T R Y P T Y C H
Against what flesh can I define
my own and the George of tomorrow
-- the wishful public's?
their body
of bodies surrounds me
touches
does not touch
me in my ring of desire
turns left
on a smile
or right
on a squint
that strains to focus
in a quiet hour
on a "Christ is risen"
in who, me?
"Messiah coming"
someday
riding the bridge
of the Staten Island Ferry
cool and free
of any loss of limb
or loved one.